What A Tender Mercy

I had a kidney stone once. It was just as bad as they say they are. It's the sort of pain that you don't even begin to think twice about- you just get to the hospital because
1. Maybe they know what to do about it, and
2. They have real drugs there.

And when I had my kidney stone and it passed, the relief was so intense that I will never in this lifetime forget it. It was like a switch being flicked. One second I was dying, or thought I was and maybe hoping I was and then...no pain. Nothing. Normal. Light flooded my being and the world as I knew it was restored.

This is how I feel when I've been going through the crazies and they suddenly, almost as quickly as that kidney stone passed, disappear.
Or, mostly.

I had a wonderful day and it was as normal and prosaic as a toasted cheese sandwich, and by the way, we had those. Toasted cheese sandwiches. But the thing is- I woke up this morning to find that the crippling anxiety I've been experiencing had disappeared. This is not to say that I have NO anxiety. This is merely to say that the kind I've been having which is the kind that no one on this earth deserves, had gone. And the relief made every little thing more beautiful. Every bit of the day was, if not glory, glory hallelujah! at least, fine.

Don't even ask me why that happened. Maybe this, maybe that. I ain't looking the gift horse in the mouth, though. Not me, baby. Not me.

I enjoyed my boys so much. Talking with Owen is definitely interesting these days. This morning he told me, "Mer-Mer, I sorry you getting old. I really going to miss you."
This cracked me up. I told him, "Don't worry, honey. We're all getting old and I'm not that old. I can still take care of you very, very well."
He agreed that this was true and we went on to the next subject.

When we went outside, he was chilly so I fetched an old Goodwill cashmere sweater for him to wear. I think it made him look like even more of a rock star, don't you? That boy is a sweet one. And so is his brother who took Frankenstein steps all over the house today. He lurches and staggers and balances and falls and then does it again. The way the floors slope in this old house make it even harder but he kept on going. He fell asleep but every time I tried to put him down he woke up and cried so I ended up holding him on the couch for at least forty-five minutes while he napped and Owen patiently waited for him to wake up so that I could make his lunch.

That simple. That sweet. Books and cards and puzzles and cartoons and conversations and chickens and toasted cheese and apples and it was perfect, simply because there is some sort of peace in my soul.

And honey, if I could control this shit, I surely would. Maybe someday I'll be able to do that- figure out how to not do what causes the anxiety and figure out how to get rid of it if it comes.
But until then, I need to remember that it does, like a kidney stone, pass. And that my world will once again be light-filled and I will be able to be grateful I'm alive once again.